Subway Strangers
by Sam the ham sandwich
Summary: AU. Kurt and Blaine have never met, except for the fact that they take the same train every morning. Kurt watches him and wonders what it is about this mysterious curly haired boy that fascinates him so.
1. Chapter 1

**SUBWAY STRANGERS**

**— **CHAPTER 1: KURT HUMMEL.****

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><p><strong>I.<strong>

The subway was not Kurt's first choice of transportation. True, it had that New York-esque feel to it, and he certainly felt like a true citizen once he began walking down the steps with the rest of the people, but he would have preferred having his car with him, despite the fact that the traffic here would've given him daily bouts of horrible stress.

Burt had decided that maybe Kurt's fancy and expensive car didn't need to accompany him to New York, at least, not yet. The apartment Kurt lived in—alone, unfortunately—wasn't exactly the kind of place you'd want to park a fancy car, and what with Kurt's tuition to think about, they couldn't replace it if anything happened to it.

Kurt agreed to take public transportation. It wasn't beneath him. He could survive in a crowded train every day for a few years, couldn't he?

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he got himself a subway card. For a month. This would last him a while, right? He wasn't really educated in the ways of New York yet.

Taking a major in Literature wasn't something Burt expected of him. It wasn't something anyone had really expected of him. Kurt had always loved reading, but to take it as a career? No, no one expected him, but when he took a few classes at community college, he found it impossible to stop. That's why right now, the stack of paper's in Kurt's arms was almost too much for him. But he managed, like always.

The train itself wasn't that bad. At this time, it wasn't that crowded, but the seats were filled. Kurt settled for leaning his back on one of the poles, papers in his arms and praying that he could find a place where he could bind them before the week ended.

The pole was surely filthy, but Kurt didn't—couldn't—mind. Once he was settled, he took in his surroundings. It wasn't that bad, actually. Besides the standing part, it wasn't as rowdy as he imagined. Looking to his left, someone caught his eye.

It was a boy.

And by god, he was gorgeous.

Kurt bit his lip and looked away for a second, tightening his grip on the stack of papers he held to his chest. A cute guy with curly hair that was gelled up more than Mr. Schue's had been. That wasn't something you saw every day.

He snuck another look, leaning harder against the pole as the train rattled. A man flipped the page of a newspaper loudly on his right. The boy was reading a paperback, his thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Was he hallucinating or were his eyebrows actually triangular?

The boy must've felt his gaze on him, and because he looked up to meet Kurt's eyes.

His eyes. Good god, they were so clear and so bright. Hazel.

Kurt bit his tongue and looked away, but not before he saw the boy stand up from his seat and offer it to Kurt.

Blushing lightly at the boy's kindness, Kurt slowly moved from where he was standing to sit, watching as the boy moved to where he was, also leaning against the pole.

The boy pulled out a book and started reading as the trail rattled.

Kurt smiled to himself, trying to block his face with his papers.

Okay, so maybe the subway wasn't so bad.

**II.**

Kurt walked into the subway and next day, less papers in his hands but papers nonetheless. Despite the certain sternness in his professor's voice, he knew he would enjoy the class. The professors who were the most serious about their craft were always the best to listen to.

Kurt stepped into the subway, his mind filled with the assigned readings he had started last night.

Who gives sixty-page reading assignments overnight? Kurt loved to read, sure, but he wasn't that talented. Seemed much for a freshman, but he could do it. Just a bit of hard work, right?

Despite his determination to finish the reading, he had only reach page forty-six before he fell asleep all over his notes. Thankfully, he didn't drool.

As got in, he took an empty seat and dumped his messenger bag in between his feet. Kurt fumbled over his readings and tried to find the last paragraph his brain had absorbed, but he made the mistake of looking up for one second.

Curls was sitting right across from him, still buried in the same book, with the same furrowed brows.

And still adorable.

Kurt sighed and looked down, saying it was just a coincidence and convinced himself to read. He could do it, couldn't he? If that boy could read with all this rattling and movement, surely Kurt could.

No, Kurt, stop thinking about him.

He skimmed through a few lines of his notes, trying to absorb the information and trying to will his morning coffee to take effect.

All this on the first day? Must be some discussion, but Kurt knew never to underestimate what an admired professor could do with two hours.

Sudden movement caught his eye, and he looked up again. The boy was getting up. Was this his stop? No, there wasn't a stop now. The train was moving.

He saw the woman standing next to him smile, and she took his seat. Curls smiled back.

Oh.

Why the hell didn't Kurt smile at him yesterday?

The boy's eyes crinkled at the sides and his teeth weren't straight but they were so white and it made his eyes even brighter.

Kurt looked back at his notes. No, no distractions.

He should've known better than to look back up.

Their eyes met, and for a split second, Kurt could've sworn he saw a flash of recognition in the boy's eyes. His eyebrows raised the slightest bit, before he broke away. Almost shyly.

Kurt didn't look up for the rest of the trip.

**IV.**

Kurt didn't see Curls yesterday, but he couldn't stop thinking about that smile.

The boy's teeth were far from the accepted standard of perfect. From where Kurt was sitting, he saw that they weren't straight and that they weren't evenly shaped and all that, but they were so bright and so white that Kurt couldn't get the image out of his little head.

He thought that maybe if everyone in the world smiled like that, this miserable planet would be a happier place to live in.

He wasn't carrying anything that day, having successfully stuffed everything into his messenger bag, which he had promptly put down in between his feet when the train doors closed.

Kurt had to admit, he was bit disappointed when he didn't see the boy the previous day—so disappointed, in fact, that he spent the whole train ride texting about it with Rachel.

Kurt walked into the train, and stopped to survey his surroundings.

Well, he was here today.

This time, he didn't have his book, which Kurt found strange. The book had been pretty thick, and Kurt's sharp senses saw that the font was similar to those in the paperbacks he carried around—small and thinly spaced. Kurt contemplated over the possibly that this boy could be a very fast reader, despite having only known the guy for two days. (And really, he didn't even know him. He just saw him on the train twice.)

To compensate for the lack of reading material, he saw bright purple earphones that lead down to a shiny pink iPod nano.

Pink? Purple? Really?

On a prepubescent girl, that colour combination would've been acceptable, but on this boy? He seemed like a perfectly normal, fashion forward boy who lived in New York, but with his fascination with exotic feather, Kurt had no right to judge this boy for his choice of accessories.

And he was tapping his feet and bobbing his head, most probably to the beat of the song he was listening to.

And there was an empty seat next to him.

Kurt resisted the smile that tug at his lips as he took the chance.

Of course, he didn't sit right next to him. He sat a few inches away; far enough not to induce any sort of contact but close enough to let the world know that Kurt didn't think he was disgusting or something.

Kurt took out his phone and started to make it look like he was busy texting.

Today, Curls was wearing a dark grey cardigan with red piping. It was cute, and it matched the red scarf that was around his neck.

For some reason, Kurt didn't remember what the boy was wearing when he first saw him.

Either way, he liked his top. What confused him was what he was wearing with the top. Looking down as discreetly as possible, Kurt looked at the pair of black pants. They were too short for him. He was wearing black shiny leather dress shoes. And he wasn't wearing socks.

Who doesn't wear socks with dress shoes?

Who doesn't wear socks in New York? In the fall?

Kurt shook his head and pretending to be smiling at his phone.

Curls got off two stops before his.

**V.**

This boy was starting to get onto Kurt's nerves. Why? He wasn't sure.

Maybe it was because neither of them had the balls to go and introduce himself to the other, or simply because of the possible fact that Curls was nothing more than a regular gentleman and wasn't interested in Kurt.

Or maybe Kurt was annoyed at himself for thinking about him.

You barely know him, Kurt. In fact, you don't know him at all. You haven't talk to him. You've only made eye contact. What does that say?

Wasn't a boy allowed to dream?

Kurt took his seat in front of the boy, who was once again listening to his iPod and staring into space. He had a tiny dopey smile on his face and his eyes were bright as ever.

Good god, he looked like the kind of guy you'd want to mug.

Kurt pulled out his own book and read. His first reading assignment of the semester; Antigone by Sophocles. It wasn't really his type of book, but drama was what he loved. Plays weren't much fun to read, Kurt believed. They were meant to be performed and the actor's emotions were supposed to be part of the experience. Still, his teacher assigned it, so this student is reading it.

From the top of his book, Kurt watched Curls. Maybe for a second the guy could snap out of his dreamy state and notice Kurt. It was impossible that he hadn't noticed him. He had seen a lot of fashionable young men on the train, but clearly none of them were Kurt Hummel.

Kurt didn't expect him to, but he did. Those hazel eyes cleared for a second and he shook his head. He caught Kurt's gaze and his eyebrows raised again. Kurt's face was hidden behind the book, but the boy could clearly see his blue eyes.

Curls smiled.

It was so bright. So happy. So carefree. Kurt wondered how this guy survived in New York on his own.

Kurt's breath hitched and he hid behind his book completely.

**VII.**

It's been two days, and Kurt still couldn't get the image of that smiling boy out of his head. Those teeth. Those eyes. Those eyebrows.

Those lips.

Kurt shook his head, completely and utterly disgusted at himself for having developed a crush on someone he hadn't even met properly. He couldn't blame himself, really. Someone that gorgeous wasn't easy to come by.

Rachel had decided that they were soul mates and started trying to convince Kurt to initiate contact with the boy. Kurt rolled his eyes and just told her that, no, she was insane and he didn't want to walk up to a stranger on the train and introduce himself.

The stack of papers he had today was once again, moderately thick. His more rigorous class was on Monday and as if the universe wanted to make that particular day of the week worse, it made sure that one class came with a lot of paper. Thing is, he had already read most of what was in these papers over the weekend but his teacher had a knack of scolding people who didn't bring their notes. And sometimes he even kicked them out. That was the last thing Kurt wanted.

Despite the assignments, the weekend meant no school, and no school meant that Kurt didn't have to take the subway. By extension, he didn't see Curls. And to be honest, the moment he got on the subway that morning the first thing he did was look around.

He had a book again.

It was a different one. The first one had an old yellowing cover and this one was brand new, the pages still making a crisp sound as he turned a page. Hm. An avid reader. Not bad, Kurt thought.

Tearing his eyes away from the boy, he once again looked around, this time for a seat. There weren't any, so he settled for standing against a pole, like he had on his first day.

Oh, had it already been a week?

Time flew, didn't it?

Kurt sighed softly, holding the papers to his chest. The boy was too absorbed in his book to offer his seat to him this time, but he didn't mind. A good book was always a good excuse.

As he was about try and take out his iPod, Kurt heard it.

It was soft, and barely audible over the train, but his sensitive ears heard it.

Curls had laughed.

Well, it was more of a small chuckle, really, but it was still a laugh. It was short, sweet and when Kurt looked, he saw a smile lingering on his face. It was adorable.

Looking back to the front of the train, Kurt smiled to himself.

**VIII.**

There were bags under Kurt's eyes.

He's not even two weeks into college and he already feels grossly unprepared for college life. McKinley schoolwork was nowhere near this laborious, and it didn't require this much thinking considering that even a shred of intelligent analysis was enough to merit a student an A.

Sometimes public school sucked.

Curls wasn't sitting today. He was standing straight, one hand gripping a pole by the door. There were vacant seats. Kurt eyed him for a second before sitting down in a place where he had a complete view of him.

Why was he standing?

His earphones were still as purple as ever and his foot was tapping to the beat of the song he was listening to. His black pants were still a couple inches too short. There was this small and content smile spread across his face, and Kurt thought it was one of the nicest things he's seen so far.

Curls seemed happy. Genuinely happy, which Kurt couldn't help but be jealous of. Sure, he loved his school and his classes and his friends, but things could be so much better. He wasn't that happy.

Curls seemed to be.

Kurt watched him get off at his stop, with a spring in his step.

**X.**

Kurt didn't take the subway yesterday. He was late and there was an empty and willing cab right outside his apartment so he splurged a bit and took it.

During that ride, all he could really think about was the pile of papers that his first professor would probably give him, and then occasionally worry about that quiz that his second professor was surely going to give.

He forgot about the hazel-eyed boy for a day.

Only a day.

When Kurt was sitting on the edge of his bed, putting on his socks, his mind wandered to the curly haired boy who, to his knowledge, never wore socks. He glanced at the clock, to make sure that he got to the subway the same time as he usually did. Kurt was sure the only reason the two of them were always on the same train was their mutual punctuality.

Curls was already sitting, with a vacant seat right next to him. Kurt contemplated over sitting next to him for a moment, but as he was deciding, a little girl came and sat next to the boy. Kurt raised an eyebrow and then sat across from him.

He watched Curls and the kid.

The girl started talking to him. Kurt held his breath. Would he reply?

"Do you like my coat?" She said, smiling up at him. Kurt did his best to listen—to ignore the trains sounds and hope for a short glimpse at what his mysterious train boy's voice sounded like.

Despite his obvious lack of height, which Kurt couldn't really deny, the tiny girl had to crane her neck up to see him. Her coat was pink with little yellow dots all over. It was a button down and the hem stopped at her knee.

"Oh, yeah. That's a pretty little coat you have there." He said, and Kurt had to keep himself for swooning. His voice was deep and smooth and absolutely gorgeous. The sound of his voice was almost as amazing as the smile that spread across his face when he noticed her. It was just so genuinely excited that you'd think the little girl was sent from heaven.

She smiled back up at him. "Thank you!" She cried, trying to hug the boy with her tiny little arms, only to fall short. Curls put one arm loosely around her, awkwardly patting her back. Maybe he didn't want people to think he was some sort of pedophile.

"My mommy says people always dress nice in New York." Her blonde hair bounced as she did, overly excited at everything. This kid must be a tourist, Kurt thought. Curls kept smiling.

"Oh, I agree. Some of the people here have the prettiest clothes, though I can't really speak for myself." He gestured to his outfit, which today was a thinly striped green button down shirt with a forest green bow tie. With khaki pants that were once again much too short for him. "I know about as much about fashion as I know about quantum physics, which, in cast you don't know, isn't very much." Curls joked. The little girl pursed her lips and nodded, her little cheeks becoming round.

Kurt smiled to himself. His sense of humour was endearing. Kurt wished for their conversation to last forever; his voice was extremely dreamy.

Before Kurt could look away, the girl's eyes were on him.

"Your coat is pretty too!" She said, letting go of the other boy and skipping over to Kurt's side of the train. She smiled at him and Kurt couldn't help but smile back. For a millisecond, his eyes flicked back to Curls, who had this amused smile on his face. Kurt must've blushed pretty hard.

"Th-thank you," Kurt said, smiling at the girl and marvelling over the carefree sparkle in her eyes. "Yours is pretty neat too. I love pink." He said, pointing at her coat, "And I must say, the boots were a lovely touch. Quite an eye for fashion, you." She giggled and whispered a thank you before walking back to her mother, who was seated a few feet away from him.

Kurt's eyes went back to Curls, who looked at him for a second before chuckling and returning to his book. Kurt couldn't place the look in his eyes, but he was positive it was something good.

That counts as the second time they've acknowledged each other's existence.

**XII.**

Kurt couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of this boy, so during class, right after the encounter with the little girl, he made a list.

1. Physically attractive.

2. Avid reader.

3. Loves his music.

4. Shamelessly taps his feet and walks in time to said music.

5. Dreamy voice.

6. Seems to have a good sense of humour.

7. Was kind to a random little girl he met on the train.

8. Smiled at me.

9. Offered me a seat the first time I got on the subway.

Kurt examined the list, analysing each bullet and trying to recreate each moment in his head as perfectly and accurately as possible. His professor droned on about proper diction in spoken word poetry but Kurt stopped caring a while ago because this guy was completely by the book and he had read everything the night before.

How was this guy real? And why on earth did the universe have to dangle him in front of Kurt? It wasn't like he could just go up to him and introduce himself, even though they've seen each other on the train for two week not. That would be weird. He needed something—an excuse to walk up to him and actually talk to him.

But what?

Two days later, as he sat and watched the boy read, he hoped for it.

The train ride was uneventful. Curls read his book and was absorbed in it that Kurt didn't even bother to control his urge to stare, because he knew the boy would to be too busy reading to notice.

His curly hair which was once again subdued by vast amounts of gel. His jawline that was strong and the touch of stubble that suggested that he was either too lazy or forgot to shave that morning. The way the corners of his lips twitched as he read—as if he were about to laugh.

When Curls' stop came, he was still reading. The sound of the doors opening jolted him out, and for a second he looked around, like a puppy that lost its owner. When he realized he had to get off, he practically jumped up and then ran out the door—feet almost slipping against the smooth floor of the train. Something small and rectangular flew out from his book as the doors closed. It floated in the air for a second before falling near Kurt's feet.

It was a picture.

Kurt picked it up by the corners, and looked at it. There was a boy with his family on it. Undeniably him, with the bush of curls which sat atop his little head. He had a wide smile on and was sitting on the lap of a woman. She was beautiful, with bright brown eyes and brown skin and without a doubt, Kurt knew where Curls got his smile.

The man standing over them was pale, with hair that was already thinning and greying. Kurt suddenly felt envious of this family's overall joy. Their smiles were all so bright and happiness radiated from the photograph.

Flipping it over, Kurt saw a message. It was written in blue ink and was in a smooth print.

"We miss you over here. Come to visit more often, okay? We demand tickets to your Broadway debut! Keep working hard, love. We know you'll make us prouder than we already are. All the hugs, Mom and Dad."

Kurt couldn't suppress the smile. That added three new bits to his list.

10. Aspiring Broadway star.

11. Implied singing and acting talent.

12. Beautiful relationship with parents.

Kurt carefully put the picture into his bag, pressing it in between the pages of the book he was currently reading. He was still smiling when he got off the train.

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><p><strong>AN:** _Special thanks to those who first reblogged this on tumblr! It's appreciated muchly. Gave me the courage to post it here haha. I'm fathomedconstellation at tumblr, if you want to ask questions, just ask there. Also I'ma post this on tumblr too. :D Reviews here are highly appreciated!_


	2. Chapter 2

**SUBWAY STRANGERS.**

— **CHAPTER 2: BLAINE ANDERSON.**

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><p><strong>I.<strong>

Another day at work awaited Blaine Anderson as he stepped onto the train. He didn't look forward to half of it, because half of it meant bringing drinks and food to people who didn't appreciate and demanded angrily and were frustrating. But of course, Blaine couldn't get mad. He had to be patient, which is what most waiters are.

Besides, the job's only to pay for his schooling, which he'll start in a year. After banishing himself to New York against his parents' will (mostly his father's, though), he was left on his own. He can't pay for college now. What little money he was given by his brother went to the rent and to food.

During the day, he was a waiter, but when the sun went down and someone else's shift started, he was a performer.

Blaine picked a seat by the door, putting his feet together and his small bag onto his lap. The train was busting with life—little children fussing about with their parents and old men sleeping with their heads pressed against the window. Pulling his coat closer around himself, he looked down onto his bag.

Right, he had a book.

He pulled it out, careful not to draw too much attention to himself. A couple weeks ago, when he was packing for New York, he found an old the Chronicles of Narnia book—one of those editions that compiled several books into one—at the back of his closet. After he finished packing, he vowed to reread the series because honestly? He hadn't done that since he was a kid.

Okay, and maybe he had a_ little_ bit of a crush on Edmund Pevensie, but that's beside the point.

Putting his finger in between the bookmark and the page he last read, he opened the book and began reading. Taking the train everyday meant Blaine needed to find a way to pass the time. Reading was always a good way.

He was able to finish a few pages when he felt the strange urge to raise his head.

Blaine didn't know what to think when he saw a boy looking at him—because _good god_, he looked…looked… really attractive. He had perfectly styled and a pretty shade of brown and his eyes were so blue but green too, a little bit and Blaine couldn't pinpoint an exact colour.

And the boy was standing, hugging a pretty thick pile of papers to his chest.

Blaine's gentlemanly instinct kicked in and he quickly put the book back into his bag and stood up—offering his seat to the boy.

The boy looked a little flustered and a smile tugged at the ends of Blaine's lips but he supressed it. The boy took his seat and Blaine went to lean against a pole—the same the one the boy was holding onto a few moments ago.

He took his book back out and retreated into the magical world. When he was certain the boy wasn't looking, Blaine smiled to himself.

**II.**

Blaine hadn't finished the book yet. Currently, he was at Prince Caspian and people would complain that he should be able to finish it in a day. Blaine didn't want to rush it—he wanted to absorb every word and every phrase and just everything. He only rushed when he was reading something for the first time, because was an impatient and needed to know what happened.

Taking occasional glances at the people around him, Blaine secretly hoped that boy from yesterday took the train regularly.

He was pretty sure he would be disappointed, considering he'd been in New York for a total of two weeks and yesterday was the first time he saw that boy. Still, Blaine couldn't help but dream.

Blaine continued to read and got lost in the world of Narnia for a while, before the sound of the train door's opening caught his attention. He had missed his stop more than once before, thanks to reading. It wasn't a pleasant experience, especially since his boss wasn't always sunshine and rainbows in the morning.

Instead of finding the regular slurry of old men reading newspapers and young people tapping away at their iPhones, Blaine sees him.

The same boy.

So yesterday wasn't just a coincidence. Blaine smiled to himself and continued to read, not wanting to seem like a freakshow who did nothing on the train except stare at beautiful boys.

Despite his amazingly tenacious self-control, Blaine still stole a glance.

The boy was shuffling through a bunch of papers. It wasn't as much as he had yesterday, but it was still a lot. The boy was focused on reading through the papers, flipping to a new page every minute. Blaine could see that the print was small and light, like a cheap photocopy.

Probably a student, Blaine thought, suddenly bitter he wasn't in College just yet.

The train doors opened again and Blaine's head instinctively looked at the people walking in. An small old lady in a knitted salmon pink bonnet came in, clutching a handbag and smiling at the people who went in with her. Blaine looked around. No seats.

He stood and smiled at the lady, gesturing for her to take his seat. She smiled gratefully at him and sat down, the heels of her boots clicking together as she did. Blaine's smile grew when he noticed that her shoes were the same colour as her hat.

Without really thinking, Blaine glanced back at the boy. He was looking at him. They were looking at each other. Oh my god, Blaine, why are you still staring?

He looked away, trying to hide the blush that was probably creeping up his neck because, man, that guy was hot.

Blaine bit his bottom lip as he walked out the train, secretly hoping that boy would be there tomorrow.

**III.**

Blaine was almost late.

He didn't even have time to fix up his hair or put on his contacts. All he did was take a quick shower and tried to recount what he had to do for the day as the warm water splashed down his chest. Taker orders. Serve people food. Lunch. Keep a patient smile on. Don't die of boredom.

He shook his head as he walked out, water spraying all over his bathroom floor—but he couldn't care about that now. A second lost could mean being late.

Blaine threw on the first hat he saw—a blue beanie and then put on his black thick rimmed glasses. Putting his contacts into his bag, he rushed out the door and made the familiar trek to the nearest station, his feet slamming onto the pavement and walking with the stream of people who all wanted to get to where they were going on time.

The doors were closing when he reached the subway, but he was able to run in and squeeze in between a few people. Adjusting his glasses, he looked around the train.

The Boy wasn't there.

Blaine sighed and sat down in between a stressed looking young woman and a man with a straggly beard. He pulled out his book and continued to read again.

Two stops later, he's looking up and he can see that face he secretly hoped to see.

Blaine hides behind his glasses as he stares, his book still open on his lap and his mess of hair stuffed into his beanie. The boy was leaning over more papers, again, and was once again reading them with unbroken concentration. Blaine took the time to study his little…friend? No, not friend. Acquaintance.

His nose was smooth and straight and it was pretty much buried in the papers. He had the cutest ears, Blaine thought, unconsciously tugging at his own. The boy's chestnut brown hair was combed perfectly as it sat atop the boy's head.

And his skin was so pale and so white and it looked so smooth. Blaine wanted to touch it.

Okay, now he sounded creepy.

He shook his head, tore his eyes away and returned to his book.

**IV.**

Blaine decided to give the boy a nickname.

Obviously, going up to him and asking for his actual name was out of the question, because though Blaine may be a little bit shameless, he knows how to avoid seeming creepy.

Maybe Paper Boy. Yeah, that works, because of all the papers he carries around. One day when Blaine's self-control feels particularly weak, he might sit down next to the boy and read over his shoulder.

Blaine walked into the subway, his bag feather light considering there was nothing in it besides a change of clothes and some hair gel for his noon touch up.

Yesterday afternoon, his boss found him hunched over the bar

counter and reading. Needless to say, he's not allowed to read on the job anymore. (Not that he was allowed to in the first place.) He promised himself he'd finish it tonight, before he went to bed.

Well, if he couldn't read, he could at least listen to music.

When he was comfortably seated, Blaine pulled out his iPod and plugged in his earphones. Scrolling through his music, he picked a random playlist and listened.

An orchestra boomed in his ears, followed by the smooth mezzosoprano voice of Eponine. On My Own. Okay, so he picked his Les Mis playlist.

The song was appropriate for the situation, Blaine concluded, since he'd been living in New York alone for a couple of weeks now—with only his brother to provide for him as he worked to earn his own living. Blaine wouldn't have any of it, at first, but Cooper was persistent. He said things along the lines of "You're only eighteen, Blaine" and "What kind of brother would I be if I left you?"

Blaine had grumbled and muttered to himself, "What kind of father wouldn't support me?" Cooper sighed and gave him his number and said he'd be in touch.

True to his word, his brother visited regularly, sometimes bearing gifts from his mother—who still loved Blaine very much—but she had a peculiar little habit of signing things not just from herself, but including his father. It's always "we" or "Your father and I" and never just her. Blaine knew his father didn't really bother with him, but at least his mother made an effort.

Blaine fell out of his train of thought for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to see the fashionable black leather boots of the boy sitting a foot or two to his left. He bit his tongue to keep from gasping.

It was Paper Boy, and he was sitting almost next to him. With just a tiny tiny bit of space separating their bodies, Blaine couldn't think.

He kept his eyes looking straight ahead, but in his peripheral vision, he could see the boy texting, holding his phone close to his face and smiling. Blaine wondered what could be so interesting that Paper Boy looked at his phone instead of him.

No, now that was Blaine being presumptuous. He took a deep breath and continued to listen to his music.

"_In my life, there's been no one like him anywhere. Anywhere, where is is…"_ He stole a sideways glance at the boy. His hair was still beautifully chestnut, black skinny jeans hugged his long legs in all the right places, and Blaine had a hard time willing his eyes away. _"If he asked, I'd be his."_

When his stop came, Blaine rushed out of the train.

**V.**

Blaine needed to know this boy's name.

He couldn't stand just sitting there and watching this beautiful boy but not know his name. A series of possibilities raced through his head. Blaine started with the more common ones.

Steve? No, much too…masculine. Not that he was being sexist or…name-ist? Blaine pulled an image of the boy from his memory. It didn't fit.

Bob? Definitely not. Thomas? Maybe, it'd be cute to call him Tommy, but somehow, it still didn't fit. Brad? Sounded like an old man name, no offence to anyone named Brad.

Blaine wracked his head for names, but he couldn't find anything that fit the boy. He was too…He couldn't even find a good enough adjective. There was simply nothing that could describe that boy, and Blaine knew that. Nevertheless, he tried.

He talked to his friend, Wes, about it. Basically, he said that he thought he was insane and shouldn't be falling in love with random strangers he sees on the train. Blaine was shocked. He wasn't falling in love. No, he wasn't. It wasn't really a secret that Blaine Anderson fell fast and when he did he fell hard, but he wasn't so desperate that he'd fall for someone he'd never even properly met.

Was he?

He left his book at home again, having finished it the night before. Blaine promised himself he wouldn't start reading the next book—which started with Prince Caspian and ended in the Silver Chair—until he got home that night.

Plugging in his music, he picked a different playlist today.

An upbeat tempo greeted him and he relaxed into his seat. God, he loved this song. He tapped his foot to the beat of the song and unconsciously, a tiny smile appeared on his face.

When did he add this to his iPod? He must've forgotten, but it was one of those songs he just had to dance to, no matter where he was, but then again, he was in the train. He couldn't just burst into song. This wasn't RENT, so he stayed seated, but he had to at least bob his head.

There was a pause in the song, and Blaine took the opportunity to look around. Paper Boy's stop must've passed by now, right? He scanned the seats next to him, only to be greeted by blue_ blue_ eyes, peeking up from the top of a book he didn't recognize.

Was it him? Yes, it had to be.

Blaine couldn't stop himself. Those eyes sparkled too much and his hidden face was just so charming. He smiled, wide and cheerful—like he was greeting an old friend he hadn't seen in years.

He saw the boy's body tense for a second before Paper Boy hid his face completely. Blaine cocked his head to the side, wondering if it was something he did. Maybe he was a tad bit too creepy? It was just a smile.

When he got off, he spent the rest of the day wondering if the book concealed a blush.

**VII.**

Blaine got a good tip last night.

No, scratch that. It wasn't a _good_ tip. It was a fantastic and wondrous and unbelievable and phenomenal and indescribable tip and he couldn't believe that anyone would be willing to give him something to fantastic.

That's right. Blaine Anderson got an _audition_.

Last night, right after he finished performing a medley of Maroon 5 songs, a man came up to him and left a hundred dollar bill in his tip jar. After Blaine got over the initial shock, the man called him over to his table and asked him to sit down.

He was casting director for a musical that's currently in the works, and he thinks Blaine would do himself good if he auditioned.

Blaine was high with excitement all night. He couldn't sleep and instead resigned to staring at the calling card the man had given him—with the audition details written on the back. He wasn't too familiar with New York yet, but he had an idea about where it was. He could probably find his way there, with a map and some directions given by a friendly strangers.

Maybe that's why he didn't notice Paper Boy that day. Well, he did, for a second, but even a gorgeous stranger couldn't distract him from the euphoria he felt at that moment.

Blaine stood on the train, energy bounding out of him in clumps he couldn't control. He was practically dancing as he walked out of the train that day.

Things were finally picking up.

**X.**

Blaine hadn't seen the blue eyed boy in a while.

Well, he wasn't one to count days, but he didn't remember seeing him yesterday. That probably felt like two days to him considering he didn't see Paper Boy on his way home and that he was a clingy person.

Could you be clingy to a person you don't even talk to?

Once most of the initial buzz from getting the audition had worn off, Blaine started to worry. What song was he going to sing? How was he supposed to sing _two_ songs? The guy had told him to prepare two numbers; one cheerful and upbeat number, and a moving ballad.

While his iPod would undoubtedly give him the right songs for the job, Blaine wracked his brain for the right ones. Which showtune would do for the ballad? Or should he go for something less stereotypical and maybe a pop/rock song? Maybe a showtune for the upbeat number. The thing with these auditions is that he had to stand out, and considering he wasn't at all experienced with New York or its inhabitants, Blaine had no idea what to expect.

In a flurry of nerves for an audition that was two weeks away, Blaine called his friend Wes, who was a year older than he was and had already landed a gig off-Broadway, playing Angel is a small production of RENT. He remembered making fun of him for landing the role, considering how _straight_ his friend was. Wes laughed it off, praising himself for his spectacular acting. Blaine then asked him how his girlfriend would react. Wes hadn't told her, which resulted in another wave of laughter.

Yes, he missed his friend.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Wes, dude, how's it going?"

"Blaine! Hey. Haven't heard from you in a while." He could hear the smile in his friend's voice. Blaine had plenty of friends back in high school, but very few of them carried on until after graduation. They left Ohio to pursue their aspirations and left Blaine to fulfil his own star-studded dreams. Would've been nice if they kept in touch, though. Wes did.

They had talked for a while, Blaine first asking Wes how he was and how the show was treating him. Rehearsals had ended a couple of days ago. He wasn't sure when opening night had been, but Blaine was sure it had already happened. Wes said it was perfectly fine Blaine couldn't come watch him—considering he had just settled into New York and was trying to earn money. His unadulterated support and just talking to him over the phone was enough for both of them.

Wes had given him good advice, telling him that it was normal to be nervous for your first audition, although Blaine didn't have to be. These things were always competitive, but the most important part of the equation was confidence. Blaine had to believe that he deserved the part. He had to believe he was talented enough for it.

"And honestly, Blaine? I think you are." He could almost imagine Wes—the same as he was two years ago—giving Blaine's shoulder a squeeze before one of his big competition solos.

Well, after that kind of encouragement, there was no way he was going to let himself blow this audition.

Blaine dragged himself out of bed that morning and had to drink two cups of coffee to wake himself up. For some reason, worrying his heart out the night before had drained him. The noise of the subway helped his unusual drowsiness waver, but not by much. He sits with the rattling for a couple minutes before he realizes he hadn't even brought his iPod. Great.

Wait, he had his book.

He pulled it out and flipped to the page marked by his bookmark. After a couple seconds of letters swirling around, Blaine gave up and stared at the page. He couldn't even read properly. What was wrong with him?

Sitting there, his fingers fidgety on the book cover from the caffeine in his system, he wished something could maybe make the strange funk he was in go away.

Sometimes life grants wishes in the strangest ways.

When the train pulled up at what Blaine had dubbed as "Paper Boy's stop", he silently prayed that the boy would walk through those doors with a smile on his face.

The boy did walk in, albeit the smile.

Blaine was only able to watch him for about two seconds when someone else caught his attention. A little girl in a darling little pink coat walks over and plops down next to him, smiling. There's a tiny gap in between her front teeth that Blaine finds absolutely adorable.

"Do you like my coat?" She asked him, the smile wide and lingering as she waited for a reply. Blaine was slightly shocked that this little girl could just go over to him and initiate conversation like it was nothing. Hadn't her mother ever taught her not to talk to strangers? But then again, Blaine didn't exactly look threatening, with his white and green spitted polo and khaki pants. Still. Blaine's eyes unconsciously darted around for a split second, searching for a woman who could be this girl's mother.

When his eyes land back on the little girl, he smiled back—wide and happy—and then replied.

"Oh, yeah." Blaine said, looking her up and down. "That's a pretty little coat you've got there." He had zero experience with children, but he loved them. They had nothing to worry about in their little world of crayons and naptime and Blaine would give anything to be that carefree.

The way her face lit up at his words—why didn't Blaine have kids again? "Thank you!" She almost jumped up to wrap her arms around him, and he was a bit shocked. Her tiny arms weren't big enough to loop around his torso completely, but she grabbed onto his clothes. Blaine didn't know what to do with his one free arm, but he eventually settled for patting her back lightly.

Blaine kept the smile plastered on his face as she spoke again. "My mommy says people always dress nice in New York." He couldn't help but sneak a sideway glance to Paper Boy, who was probably one of the many people whose sense of style he admired.

He looked at the girl again and answered, "Oh, I agree. Some of the people here have the prettiest clothes, though I can't really speak for myself." He ran a hand over his clothes, which he admitted didn't like. Blaine was in a rush that morning, and fashion was the last thing on his mind. He'd be wearing an apron at work, anyway. "I know about as much about fashion as I know about quantum physics, which, in cast you don't know, isn't very much." He couldn't help but add a touch of humour. The small girl's face was adorable as she pursed her lips and nodded solemnly, as if soaking in what he just said.

Blaine opened his mouth to ask her where his mother was, but she had her eyes set on another person.

That other person was him. That _boy_. His blue eyes widened as the girl called out to her, "Your coat is pretty too!" She let go of Blaine and went over to where Paper Boy was sitting, smiling up at him. Blaine's eyes trained on the boy, curious as to how he'd respond.

He smiled.

Wow.

He has a pretty smile.

"Th-thank you," He said, and his voice ringed in Blaine's eyes longer than necessary. It was high, but strong and smooth and just…wow. He couldn't keep his thoughts straight, so he just stared at boy. God, he must've looked creepy.

"Yours is pretty neat too. I love pink." Paper Boy said, the smile lingering as he spoke and pointed at the girl's coat, "And I must say, the boots were a lovely touch. Quite an eye for fashion, you." She squeaked at the compliment, and Blaine had a hard time deciding which was more adorable—Paper Boy's or the little girl's smile.

The girl went back to her mother after thanking the boy. Blaine was still looking at him. The boy's eyes went from where the girl was right to Blaine, and he was sure as hell that his heart stopped for a second.

The boy's eyes widened a bit, and for some reason, it made Blaine chuckle to himself. Being that cute should be a federal offence.

Blaine looked away and resumed reading before he had an opportunity to embarrass himself.

**XII.**

The encounter with the little girl and the gorgeous boy didn't help Blaine's spirits. Sure, it cheered him up for a train ride, but the anxiety about his audition and about life in general was still freaking him out.

Plus, there was a really rude woman in the restaurant last night and with every moment he had a serve her, it seemed more and more likely that she was sent there just to make Blaine feel worse.

Wiping tables made him wish that he could just go back to his book which was sitting on a table in the backroom, but no. He promised his boss. No more reading on the job. He could reopen the world of Narnia after he finished his shift and went for Lunch.

He was feeling better this morning, because even though his day shift sucked, he was able to get a decent amount of tips. And that made him exhausted and he got a full night of sleep.

When Blaine walked into the train, he was already clutching his book. The last thing he wanted to do today was to wait tables but he had no choice.

He plopped down on the first empty seat he found and cracked open his book immediately. Blaine dropped into the fictional world and stayed there. He didn't think about the blue eyed boy the whole ride.

Blaine was absorbed. The world around him melted away and for a while, nothing worried him. That was the beauty of the book. When people did heroic things, they were rewarded, and there weren't always happy endings but happy things always happened to the good people. Blaine wished that's how it worked. Good things happened to good people and bad things happened to bad people. He found himself wishing misfortune on the woman who yelled at him for taking more than two seconds to refill her wine glass.

The sound of doors opened shocked him out of his trance. Crap, crap, crap,_ crap_. If he missed his stop, it would definitely make him late. And his boss would yell at him. And the last thing Blaine wanted was someone else yelling at him.

He went out of the train as fast as he could, the double doors almost catching on his bag as he left.

Blaine didn't notice something had fallen out of his book.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** okay, so this chapter definitely sucks more than the last one. Sorry for the delay. School, sickness and social life combined killed me. Also tumblr. And temple run. Hehe. The following chapters will be a lot shorter. I just wanted for your guys to see Blaine's take on things. So yeah. THE PLOT THICKENS NEXT CHAP I WILL WRITE IT FAST.

**SNEAK PEEK:**

_Kurt looked at the picture whenever he could. The bright crinkled eyes of the small boy fascinated him. What was his story? The loving parents and the dream of Broadway written neatly on the back told Kurt that this boy was worth knowing—that he'd be even more wonderful than Kurt imagined._

_But that was it, wasn't it? Kurt was imagining things. He didn't actually know this boy, but he was enthralled all the same. As the picture lay next to his Asian Literature notes, he sighed and banged his head lightly against the table._

_What if he met the boy and he wasn't nearly as wonderful as the kind and caring and talented boy he had made up in his head?_


	3. Chapter 3

**SUBWAY STRANGERS.**

**— CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

><p><strong>XIV.I<strong>

Kurt looked at the picture whenever he could. The bright crinkled eyes of the small boy fascinated him. What was his story? The loving parents and the dream of Broadway written neatly on the back told Kurt that this boy was worth knowing—that he'd be even more wonderful than Kurt imagined.

But that was it, wasn't it? Kurt was imagining things. He didn't actually _know _this boy, but he was enthralled all the same. As the picture lay next to his Asian Literature notes, he sighed and banged his head lightly against the table.

What if he met the boy and he wasn't nearly as wonderful as the kind and caring and talented boy he had made up in his head?

God, Kurt, this is getting ridiculous. Pull yourself together and stop moping. He's nothing but someone you see on the train. He's not your "true love" and he's not some sort of Prince Charming who jumped out of a story book ready to sweep you off your feet and into a world where hardship doesn't exist.

Give. It. Up.

Kurt bit his lip as he walked into the train that morning, part of him wishing Curls wasn't there. He was nervous. Extremely nervous. After a week of watching him and minimal eye contact, he couldn't just walk up to him and give him back the picture.

That would be weird, wouldn't it?

That's why Kurt let out a sigh of relief when the hazel eyed boy was nowhere in sight.

Blaine ran around his room, pushing over books and looking under pillows but to no fruit. It wasn't there. It _wasn't there_. For good measure, he grabbed the book he was reading by the spine and shook it violently, momentarily disregarding everything he knew about book etiquette. Still, nothing fell out.

That was the only thing he had left from his mother.

Due to mild disagreements between Blaine and his father, he had moved out and decided to make his own living in New York. That day, when everything he owned was loaded onto the plane and all he needed to do was board, he said goodbye to his mother.

She had ran thumb over his cheek and smiled at him. And then she told him she was proud of him.

A week later, that picture came in the mail.

He shifted through the mess on the floor of his apartment one last time.

No luck.

He slumped against the wall and reached for his phone, calling in sick.

**XVI.**

Kurt needed a break.

Too many words. Too many characters and too much information to process that he felt like it was miracle that he was still standing. He literally dragged his feet out of his classroom that afternoon, his bag slung over his shoulder carelessly. He let out a sigh and turned to his classmate, Robbie, who looked about as sullen as he did.

"Where's the closest bar?"

His face lit up, and instead of giving him a sloppy answer, he went on about some of the best bars in the area. Which ones have the best atmosphere, the best entertainment, the best drinks, and even going through the one with the hottest girls but Kurt waved the last part off.

"There's this one bar I love. It's called "Dead Man Walking". It's got this giant neon sign outside of it. You can get to it using the subway. Only a couple stations down." He said, enthusiastically, and Kurt was relieved that he finally decided on which bar he was going to send him to.

"And there's this guy who performs there every night—I think you'd appreciate him. He's got a pretty good voice, and guitar skills too." He winked, and it took all of Kurt's strength not to smack him. Robbie was one he sat next to during a lot of his classes, mainly because he took the best notes and it was always handy to be friends with someone like that. Kurt didn't think this guy knew him enough to tease him.

"And what makes you think I'd _appreciate_ him?" He raised an eyebrow and Robbie shrugged.

"You sing under your breath sometimes when you're bored in class. He sings some of the stuff you do." He smiled, and then gave him the address of the bar and went on his way.

Kurt held the scrap of paper in his hand as he boarded the train.

"Dead Man Walking"

Sounded cheery enough. Hopefully it'll live up to Robbie's hype.

**XVI.I**

Blaine wiped the sweat off his forehead with a clean rag. The huge group of people he had been serving for over two hours was finally leaving, and the sound of their shoes against the wooden floor sounded strangely like a chorus of angels to Blaine's ears.

Lucas leaned over the bar, smiling at Blaine's tired expression.

"They were a hassle, weren't they?" He said, nudging Blaine's shoulder and the curly haired boy snorted.

"Understatement of the century." He dropped his cheek on top of the bar and closed his eyes. All he wanted to do now was go home and take a nap, but that wouldn't do. He had to perform in an hour. An hour to rest.

Lucas chuckled and then patted Blaine's back. "I'd offer you a drink, my friend, but I doubt the audience would appreciate your drunken singing."

Blaine raised his head and smirked, "I'd still sound awesome."

The blonde laughed and flicked a towel in his direction, "Don't I know it. Now go resume your snoring in the back room. The last thing we want is your heavenly voice scaring off potential customers."

The bell jingled as Kurt stepped inside, the scrap of paper safely stuffed into his coat pocket. The restaurant was quiet, with only the sound of idle chatter coming from the tables filling the air.

The bar was empty, and a tall, stocky blonde bartender was playing a cherry, tossing it up in the air and the catching it. Kurt sat on a stool a couple feet away from the blonde, taking in the atmosphere of the place.

Yes, it was quaint, and the right kind of dark for him. Perfect.

The blonde's eyes sparkled when they made eye contact, and he wasted no time moving towards of Kurt and showing interest.

"Well, hel_lo_, sunshine. What brings you here?" He said, putting his elbow down onto the counter and smiling at Kurt. His teeth were white and straight.

"Oh, um, nothing." He said hastily, "My friend recommended this place to me, and my utter lack of knowledge in that area of expertise made me trust his better judgement."

The blonde chuckled, "Never been to a bar before, huh? I took it you looked young." Kurt's jaw dropped an inch, but he closed it immediately.

It was true, though. Kurt had been to one gay bar in Ohio, and that was once. After an incident involving a really forward teenage boy in his junior year, he never wanted to set foot in that place ever again, so he resigned to drinking at various homes with his fellow Glee Clubbers.

"So, are we going to continue this pleasant chat all night or are you going to order a drink?" He said, moving his hands back to the empty silver tumbler behind the bar.

Kurt swallowed, and then looked over the variety of bottles around. He wasn't particularly experienced in the world of alcohol, and he had always drank beer before. Beer was the only thing he trusted when it came to parties, but it was bitter and not at all pleasant. The blonde eyed him expectantly. He sighed.

"Just give me something non-alcoholic, for now. I plan on going home to my own apartment tonight." The blonde nodded and set to work, pouring something that looked like orange juice into the silver tumbler.

"So, does that pretty face have a name?" The blonde asked, not taking his eyes off his work. Kurt instinctively looked over his shoulder, and business was slow that night. Well, it was_ Wednesday_. Kurt himself had no idea why he was out and about in the middle of the week.

"Kurt." He said, finally, and the blonde smiled at him.

"Nice to meet you, Kurt." He pushed the orange drink towards him, the glass sliding smoothly against the wooden counter. On reflex, he caught it with an open hand.

"Name's Lucas." He offered his hand to shake, and Kurt took it with his free one. "And by the way, that's a Shirley Temple. Non-alcoholic." He noticed Kurt eying the liquid and then added, "Don't worry doll, I didn't drug it or anything. Scout's honour." He let go of Kurt's hand and crossed his heart with his index finger.

Kurt smiled at him and then took a sip of his drink. Hey, it wasn't that bad. He drank some more, and Lucas smiled in triumph.

"So, what made you want to go to a bar in the middle of the week, at _five_ pm? Must've been some day," He said, apparently having no other form of entertainment besides talking to Kurt. The bar was empty. The only other people in there were a handful of people who were there for early dinner.

Kurt rolled his eyes at the assumption, "I just needed to get my mind off of…um…things."

"Nasty break up, then?" He started wiping a perfectly clean beer glass with a white rag. What is it with bartenders and cleaning clean glasses?

"No." Kurt said, a bit too quickly for Lucas to drop the subject.

"What'd she do? Cheat on you? Stop returning your calls? Wear hot pink with red?" Kurt wrinkled his nose at the last one.

"I'm gay."

Lucas' eyes widened a bit and then he let out a low whistle. "Sorry for assumin' then."

Right as Kurt was about reply, the sound of acoustic guitar strings filled the restaurant. He turned his head to look at the stage and—holy _shit_.

It was him.

Curls.

He was there, with a light brown acoustic guitar and at the stage with a microphone and Kurt's heart leapt from his chest and probably landed somewhere on Jupiter. There was a bright white spotlight pointed at him, and it looked his there was light layer of sweat there and it made Kurt lick his lips.

He broke his eyes away before Lucas noticed.

Unfortunately, the blonde was a lot sharper than Kurt gave him credit for.

"He's gay too, if you wanted to know." Lucas was smirking, and Kurt could almost feel every blood vessel in his body rush to his cheeks.

"What made you think I wanted to know?" _He's gay. He's gay. He's gay._

"I've been on the receiving end of that kind of stare more often than you can imagine. I know attraction when I see it," He winked, and Kurt held his chin up and stayed silent.

An elderly man plopped himself down at the very end of the bar, and Lucas smiled at Kurt one last time before going to attend to him. Kurt thanked the universe and returned to sipping his drink.

Curls smiled as he stepped up to the microphone—the corners of his eyes crinkling and his teeth oh so pearly white. Kurt held his breath as he waited for him to speak, his fingers curling around the glass like an anchor.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." He started, smiling at the small crowd that was scattered around the room, "My name is Blaine Anderson, and I'll be your entertainment for this evening."

Blaine Anderson.

So that's his name.

Kurt's heart sped up the slightest bit as he watched the boy played a few random chords, strumming the guitar every so often to get a feel of it. His hands were big and mesmerizing, and Kurt couldn't help but trail his eyes up and down the boy's body because he looked so different from when he was on the train.

He had a plain black tee on, and it hugged his arms in the most amazing way imaginable. The veins on his forearms were clearly visible and the sole spotlight that shone on his made his skin looked like it shone.

Kurt swallowed the pool of saliva that had been collecting in his mouth.

"Piece of work, isn't he?"

The Shirley Temple almost toppled over, but Kurt composed himself quickly enough. He tore his eyes away from the boy, and glared at Lucas.

"It's okay, doll. It ain't illegal to find another man attractive," He grinned, swiping a rag over the small spill Kurt's drink made, "And since you're gay, it's probably encouraged."

Kurt was about to say something when the speakers boomed with the opening chords of a song.

Lucas looked at how Kurt's eyes once again glued themselves to that boy—to Blaine—and then smirked.

"I'll leave you two alone, then." And once again made his way down the bar where the elderly man sat. Kurt just kept…staring. It was probably unhealthy, and didn't help his case with Lucas. In the back of his mind, he knew the boy would relay the story of his admiration (or even call it lust) for Blaine, (Blaine. His name was _Blaine_.) to Blaine, and Kurt would never be able to live it down. Especially if Blaine caught a glimpse of him and then saw him on the train.

A deep, sweet, glorious baritone filled his ears as he thought. Wait, _singing_.

Blaine was singing.

Holy crap, his voice was gorgeous.

It was sweet, and a little rough around the edges as he mouth formed the lyrics and his fingers pressed the strings. His strumming was strong, each stroke powerful, and it looked like he could break the thing at any moment.

Kurt couldn't concentrate on the words, and instead just stared and let the music wash over him. Blaine smiled at every other word, his teeth shining white under the spotlight and his arms flexing. Kurt stopped breathing somewhere in the middle of the song.

"Might want to wipe the drool dribbling down your chin. I ain't mopping that shit up." Lucas interjected, shocking Kurt out of his thoughts and back to the bar. His hand flew straight to his mouth, but there wasn't any drool. Thankfully.

"If you want me to, I can introduce you guys. He's got a short break after a couple of songs." He offered, his eyes trailing to Blaine who was still signing passionately to a song Kurt didn't recognize, "And then you can drool at him up close! Pretty fantastic, eh?"

"I—uh, you don't have to." Kurt sputtered, and he could feel his drink bubbling in his stomach. Or was that just butterflies? Thank god he didn't get anything alcoholic, or he might've done something stupid. Like ask to meet him.

"I think it'd do you both good." Lucas said, suddenly solemn. Kurt looked at him and raised an eyebrow in question. The blonde shrugged, and he knew he wouldn't get an explanation out of him even if he tried.

Blaine laughed silently as he began singing another song, but his eyes wandered through the audience. The spotlight probably did a good job of hiding Kurt's face, but if Curls really tried, he'd be able to recognize him.

That's when Lucas started waving his arms.

Kurt's heart rate sped up from one to a million in a second, and he felt the sudden urge to just rush out, glass still in his hand and leave Lucas and the music and _Blaine_ behind.

But he didn't. He was rooted to the spot, and Curls' eyes locked with his.

Honey hazel on blue.

Blaine's mouth dropped open an inch and his fingers fumbled on one chord. Kurt could _feel_ Lucas smirking at them both even without looking at him.

Curls, however, regained his composure quick enough to start singing the opening lyrics to the song. Kurt took deep calming breaths to slow down his heartbeat. They didn't work.

"I'm sorry, I—I think I have to go somewhere." He downed the rest of his drink in one go and then stood up. Lucas' eyes widened, as if in panic, and then he reached a softly put his hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"Was it something I said? If so, I'm sorry, I was just teasi—"

Kurt brushed his hand off and ran to the door, his cheeks flaring.

Blaine finished his set and rushed down to the bar, towards Lucas, who was cleaning a glass for about the fifth time.

"Hey, Luc, who was that—"

"That gorgeous piece of ass you were practically eye fucked in the middle of your set? Yeah, his name was Kurt." He didn't even look up, as if the glass was five hundred times more interesting than the boy talking to him.

Kurt. His name was Kurt.

"Why did he—" Lucas cut him off again, "He left after you guys saw each other." He knitted his eyebrows together in confusion, finally looking up at his friend, "Dunno what his problem was. Probably had a boner for you."

Blaine blushed at that, "Did he, um, say anythi—"

"About you? Well, anyone with a brain could tell he thought you were hot, but that's about it." Lucas smirked as the smaller boy blushed even more furiously.

Paper Bo—_Kurt _was there. He thought he was hot.

And they had undoubtedly seen each other.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** HEY! So, I'm going to try and update at least once a week. I'm really busy right now since finals is fast approaching and I _might_ be failing math a little bit. Oops. Anyway, hope you liked it. If you have anything questions, hit me up on tumblr at agustinwaters


	4. Chapter 4

**SUBWAY STRANGERS**

****— **CHAPTER 4**

* * *

><p><strong>XVIII.I<strong>

In a moment of sheer panic, Kurt hailed a taxi.

The moment he sat down and told the cabbie where to go, he immediately regretted it. Why waste the perfect opportunity? Kurt could say he saw him perform at a bar his friend recommended, which was, after all, the truth. That guy—Lucas—must have said something. It was the perfect excuse.

What the _hell_ was he so afraid of?

Blaine sat in the train that morning, tapping his foot, not out of the need to move to the music on his iPod, but rather, out of nervousness.

How does one go about initiating contact in a situation like this?

Blaine shook his head, no, he'd cross that bridge when he got there, so he waited.

And wait was all he was able to do.

**XIX.I**

It was Friday, and Kurt's only Saturday class was cancelled. So he went to the bar. In the middle of the day.

The bell jingled and Kurt prayed to the universe that he wouldn't be there. _Please don't be there_.

But he was. The moment his foot stepped onto the wooden floor, a mess of curls moved over and greeted him. He was wearing a black short sleeved polo, the first button left open, showing a patch of skin and a few chest hairs poking out. Kurt's mouth dried up at the sight.

The boy—_Blaine_—seemed to lose his composure for about half a second as his eyes widened, but he regained it quickly.

"Table for one, sir?"

Kurt's mouth moved wordlessly a couple times before he was able to choke out a "Yes."

"Let me take your coat," He said, and Kurt nodded slowly and just stood there as the boy put his hands on his shoulders and took the coat and placed it on a rack by the door. The touch made Kurt's skin buzz, even through several layers.

Blaine's mouth curled up in a smile as he gestured for Kurt to follow him, "Right this way, sir."

The restaurant was brighter during the day, with the lights turned up a notch and the sunlight poking through the curtains. There was a small crowd of people over at the booths, the sounds of glasses and silverware the only noise in the air. It was light, and it seemed like the kind of restaurant Kurt would frequent.

He sat at a circular table at the corner of the room, right next to the window. When he sat down, Kurt stared at the small centrepiece; a single flower in a glass vase. Anything to keep his eyes from wandering to—

"My name is Blaine," His grin was wide and infectious, "And I'll be your server this afternoon."

Kurt pursed his lips and nodded. His fingers fiddled with the hem of his vest. Blaine held out a menu for him to take. When Kurt refused to meet his eyes, he just placed it in front of him on the table and smiled again.

"Just call me when you're ready to order," Flashing another toothy grin, he left.

Kurt would never survive being a waiter—smiling all the time, and at people who didn't care about you. He'd go insane before the first day was over.

He flipped open his menu and stared, the word swirling around in his head.

Blaine gripped Lucas' bicep with more force than necessary, "Dude, he's here."

"Who's here?" He said, ignoring the pain in his arm and continuing to clean up the dirty plates from a recently emptied table. Blaine's voice became more panicked.

"Kurt." He hissed, and then looked over his shoulder to the pale boy sitting by the window, the sunlight dancing lightly on his table and across his lap. What was he going to do? Keep playing dumb? No, he couldn't just make conversation with a customer. He had to stay professional. _What was he going to do_? Lucas chuckled.

"You're on break in half an hour. When he finishes, grow some balls and ask him out." Lucas brushed his arm of impatiently and went into the kitchen.

_Ask him out?_

He made it sound so simple.

Kurt kept glancing up from his menu to stare at Blaine, who had retreated to the darker area of the restaurant near the kitchen door. He was talking to someone.

Oh, crap. Kurt recognized the bright blonde hair.

It was Lucas. Blaine was talking to Lucas.

He hid his face behind the menu once again, trying to remember exactly what he had said to the blonde when they met. Shit, most of it had been Lucas teasing him about Blaine, which honestly, was entirely Kurt's fault. After a bit of consideration, ultimately deciding on a Caesar salad and some yummy looking rolls filled with cream cheese.

It was a bit of a splurge, but this week stressed him out more than usual. He deserved it.

Seven minutes was long enough to decide on what to eat, right? Not the Blaine was counting.

He walked back over to Kurt, whose face was expressionless.

"I—uh," Kurt started, leaning his head downward to hide the blush that was slowly spreading on his cheeks, and Blaine tried not to smiled in amusement.

"I think I'll just get the, um—" Kurt just pointed at the menu, and Blaine just nodded, his lips in a tight smile as he jotted down his order.

"Got it. Your meal will be here shortly," Blaine said, smiling wide at Kurt, who decided to fiddle with his cellphone.

Blaine bit his lip as he walked back to the kitchen. He announced Kurt's order and then chef nodded at him. Lucas pushed into the room, a smirk on his face.

"Dude, you have _got_ to calm down."

Blaine glared at him before he brushing past him, back into the flurry of other customers he was supposed to serving. Kurt wasn't the only person in the restaurant after all.

**XIX.V**

Blaine didn't say a word when Kurt's food arrived, the two of them communicating with facial expressions and hand gestures. A tentative raise of his glass to indicated he'd like a refill. A smile when his food was served.

It kept Kurt calm. Why was he so nervous anyway? _What's wrong with him_?

It didn't help that he decided to actually text someone instead of just staring at his phone. That move resulted in a flood of texts from Rachel, telling him that if that boy really was "_that attractive_," then Kurt should just get up and _talk to him_.

If only it were that easy. If Kurt ever had an actual conversation with Blaine, the only thing it would be was awkward, considering he's done nothing but stare at the boy every time he was in the same room as him. God, it was like he was in high school again.

A forkful of lettuce was halfway to Kurt's mouth when the chair opposite him was suddenly occupied. Lucas' eyes were practically gleaming with mischief as he held up his hand to prevent Kurt from saying anything. Strangely, it worked.

"Let's get this straight," He started, leaning an elbow onto the table and not-very-discreetly pointed at Blaine, "You find him hot."

Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but he held up his hand again and continued, "And he finds you hot."

His blue eyes widened at that, and Kurt felt his stomach flutter again. Blaine found him hot? Really? Lucas caught on his expression, "Yes, he does. And now, riddle me this, buttercup, why are you making this _so_ difficult?"

Lucas finally gave him space to say something, but he was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth several times but his thoughts got stuck somewhere on the way to his lips. What was with him lately? Was school getting to him? This wasn't good, especially since his major required him to be able to think logically and speak with persuasiveness under pressure. Still, Lucas was a character, acting like he knew what Kurt should and shouldn't do. He probably didn't know anything about their regular subway encounters.

If you could call them encounters.

All he managed was, "In what way am I making this difficult?"

Lucas laughed, not loud enough to draw attention to himself, but loud enough to make Kurt raise an eyebrow at him.

"Sweetheart, stop making things so complicated. If you think he's hot, then just _talk to him_." Rachel's texts flashed in Kurt's mind, and he stared blankly at Lucas' amused grin, "It's not that hard. I do it all the time."

Kurt scowled, wondering why on earth this idiot was talking to him. He didn't know anything about Kurt, but somehow, everything he said made sense.

Why _was_ Kurt being so difficult?

He raised his hand in the air, "Bill please?"

Lucas was gone before Blaine could catch sight of him.

_You can do this, Blaine. You can._

_It's just a goddamn number. It's not like you're proposing._

He took a deep breath and hung up his apron in the backroom.

Kurt had paid and he had given him his change. It was 1:30 pm, which meant Blaine was on break now. He walked out of the back door just in time to see a flash of chestnut brown hair turn the corner. Blaine could've walked, just caught up with him over time. No, he didn't. Instead, he _ran_.

Blaine tapped Kurt's shoulder when he was close enough, still a bit breathless. Kurt walked _fast_.

"Hey," He greeted, smiling as wide as he could.

"Hi," Kurt said, his eyes widening at the sight of the other boy, "How may I help you?"

Blaine's grin was replaced with urgency, "Oh—um, I mean, hi. I'm Blaine. Of course you know I'm Blaine, I was your waiter, anyway, um, I saw you the other night. And we see each other on the train, right? That's you, right? And I was just—I, um, god, I was just wondering if I could have your number."

_What the fuck are doing, Anderson_? Pull yourself together.

Kurt raised an eyebrow at him, an amused smile creeping onto his face. Blaine could've sworn he's never blushed harder in his life.

"Yes, that's me on the train." Kurt started, opening his coat pocket and pulling out the pen he always kept there, "And since you asked _so nicely_," He looked like he was supressing it, but a giggle escaped. Blaine scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed as hell.

"Give me your hand."

It took a couple seconds for that to register in Blaine's head, but he held out his arm and Kurt held it softly as he wrote his number on the back of his hand. The boy's fingertips made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His hand was soft.

"Make sure you actually use that number," Kurt said, smiling wider as he capped his pen and put it back in his pocket. Blaine nodded mutely, his grin growing as each second passed.

"See you," Kurt said, turning around and walking away.

Blaine looked at his hand. It was actually his number.

He couldn't subdue his glee, so he skipped back to the restaurant, grinning wider than he's ever remember grinning before.

Lucas spent the next hour trying to calm him down enough to be able to go back to work.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**_ SORRY IT'S SO SHORT OMG I FEEL SO BADDDDD. SORRY GUYS, BUT IT'S FINALS UP UNTIL MARCH 23, I DON'T THINK I'LL BE ABLE TO UPDATE UNTIL THEN. (and i've got a party on the 24rd, so, yeah.) by the way, thanks to some of you guys who encouraged me. I'm most probably not failing math! I did well enough on my last test on my final project to pass. Anyway, yeah. Finals time. That's college for you. I promise to write a shitload in that grace period in between the end of this semester and the start of the summer semester, so yeah. Sorry it's short! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed :)_

_PS. i changed my tumblr url again. i've changed it thrice since i started writing this, jesus. it's now tequiladarren, but i'm on hiatus right now :) so. yeah._


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